


Spare Time

by 3amepiphany



Series: Starlight Lanes AU [1]
Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: Gen, Other, Starlight Lanes AU, bowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6796438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3amepiphany/pseuds/3amepiphany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A coupon for some weekend fun, includes a shoe rental.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spare Time

**Author's Note:**

> "Do you like bowling?" 
> 
> The question was posed and I'm not sure if that's where the conversation was intended to head, but here we are. You can thank avocadosatapogee over on Tumblr for getting this one...... rolling.

Wander looked at the coupon that he had just been given by the kind person handing them out, a black and white print on a bright yellow slip of paper. His pace slowed a bit and caused him to fall behind. Sylvia stopped at the curb, bags in hand, waiting for him when she realized he had stopped and was seemingly mesmerized by whatever he was holding.

“Buddy,” she called to him. “You want that sweet summer bod full of popsicles, don’t ya?”

He looked up at her, the wide brim of his cap drawing a deep shadow in the high sun as it lifted up and revealed that face.

That face that told her he’d found something exciting.

“Popsicles, Wander.” She gestured at him with a hand full of bags, swinging them a bit. He looked at the one he was carrying and remembered that _he_ had the popsicles, and rushed to catch up to her, apologizing and stuffing the flyer in the bag he was holding for the moment so that he could dig their bus passes out of his back pocket. “What’d you get there?”

“A coupon,” he said excitedly. “A coupon for bowlin’ and lunch. For two,” he drew out, grinning that grin. “This weekend. It’s a package deal - two meals from the bar and grill and two games, shoe rentals included.”

Well, that was timely. They had just been discussing what they were going to do over the weekend while they were bagging up salad greens for Wander. “That actually doesn’t sound so bad. You wanna do that? I’d be up for it. Haven’t been bowling in a long time, but I used to go with my Granny when she was in a league, Dad, too.” He nodded emphatically at her, totally sold on the activity, and as the bus rolled up, they got on board and sat near the route map and the driver to figure out how to get to the bowling alley for the next day.

Once home, with groceries put away, Wander disappeared into his bedroom for a bit. Sylvia sat on the couch with the dinner she’d picked up from deli, and put on a movie. After a while, Wander came back out, buttoning up a shirt that was just a smidge too big for him, and painfully yellow. She remembered this one - a weird piece he’d found on a thrifting trip downtown a while back, and he got super excited about the design embroidered on the back: “Tumblin’ Tumbleweeds”, in a loopy text that looked like a piece of rope, arched over a tumbleweed knocking down some pins. The name over the left chest in front said “Craig” in brown. He turned around, modeling it for her in an exaggerated manner, and laughed when she cackled. “Oh, Grop, it’s perfect,” she said. And it really was. She asked him if she could send a pic of it to her mom, to share with her grandma.

“I hope she’ll like it,” he said, taking it off and folding it up, patting his mussed fur down and re-adjusting his cap. “I can’t wait. This might wind up bein’ a new hobby, Syl, I can feel it.”

That was a phrase she heard from him a lot, but only because he seemed to collect hobbies so loosely. Not that there was anything wrong with it or that he dropped so many because they’d get boring,- Wander was just like that, he always preferred to be learning something, so it would make the most sense that he’d pick up a new thing out of immediate interest and limit himself on the older ones, to constantly keep that feeling of learning, learning, learning. It was a pretty great trick, even if she never saw it working for her, herself. She liked just about everything they looked into or tried, save for the knitting and crochet, and especially the cross-stitch. The needlepoint they’d done framed and hung in the kitchen as a testament to that; Wander’s was a cute little “Bless This Mess” pre-printed pattern to follow with a jar of spilled jam and some half-eaten toast, while hers was just this lopsided text in varying sizes that said “Sylvia did this and hated every stitch”, over the faint pre-printed pattern of a Mynock on a branch with the “Hang In There!” slogan. In her defense, she couldn’t keep a good hold on the needle and kept stabbing her hands with it. She didn’t have the patience for untangling skeins of thread, either.

The next afternoon, they decided to go a little early, to have lunch before the open bowling hours started. On the bus ride over, she got a text. “Mom asked if we’re joining a league,” she said.

“Oh, gosh, could you imagine?” Wander laughed. “That sort of thing sounds real intimidatin’.”

“Well, you’ve bowled before, right? I think the best way to approach this as a hobby would be to join a league. There’s got to be some beginner level teams. We can ask more about it when we get there.”

“But you’re not a beginner. The last time I ever bowled I only scored 270 points.”

Sylvia stared at him. “Is that your average?”

He shrugged. “No, but it wouldn’t hurt to see if it could be.”

The bus stop was nearly across the street from the bowling alley, and Wander couldn’t keep the skip out of his step as they walked up to and through the parking lot. The signs were a bit faded and very kitschy-looking; the marquee board read “WEEKEND FUN COUPON” and “HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRANK” on the other side. Wander had run around to go and read it. 

They walked in, and Syl felt that tug of nostalgia in her gut. It smelled of nachos and beer, the shoe disinfectant, and the oil for the parquet. It was missing something though. She looked around at the league plaques on the wall, and then across from it in the display case there were more tournament plaques and team photos, a few trophies and some ribboned medals, gift certificates and party hats, and some engraved balls and pins. “Hold your birthday parties here” read a little hand-written sign, with balloons and more balls and pins colored in crayon and markers. But then she saw it. “Wander,” she called to him, bringing his attention away from the amazing pattern on the carpet, and pointing to an old, faded photo in the case. “Look at this - look. These were the all-quadrant championship teams the year my Granny’s team lost in the finals.” She had to pick him up to see it clearly, but that was fine.

“Whoa,” he said, an arm wrapped around her neck and his shirt bunching up around his shoulders and neck. “Your Granny has always been so beautiful, Syl.”

“Don’t tell her that, she’ll get mad. But look. That’s her with Stella, Betty, Trudi, and Zoe. They lost to the Nine-Pin Nihilists,” she pointed to one of the other photos.

Up to the counter they went, looking at some small arcade machines in a side-room, more photos and awards hanging on the walls, and the concourse and lounging areas overlooking the alley itself, with their Formica and chrome tables, Melamine chairs, little table-topper menus for the neon-lit grill to their left and the dark little bar to the right. Wander looked very intensely at the items in the display case of the counter - ads for personalized engraving on balls, embroidery on league shirts and hand towels and ball bags, sporting gloves and other professional accessories for sale. Sylvia looked out over the lanes, watching the bowlers there send their balls hooking down the shiny wooden floors and crashing into the pins.

“Hey, guys, I’m Sam, How can I help you? Can I help you?” said the staffer that hustled out to meet them, just as unsure as he seemed confident that he could help them; it may have been Wander’s shirt that confused him. The neon lights of the clock behind him blinked pink against the brass of the kettle that seemed to be his head. Or his helmet. That wasn’t very clear. And he wore a big oven mitt on one hand. But it was no matter to Wander, who smiled and introduced himself. Sylvia was still half lost in the sounds of the pinsetters and the music, looking up at the scoreboards and marvelling that they were all still done by hand and grease pen, instead of the newer electronic setups. She nodded at the attendant, though, to acknowledge him at least.

“We went to the store yesterday, and as we were leavin’, we were handed a little flyer,” Wander explained, pulling the folded piece of paper out and handing it over to Sam. “We’d like to take your bowlin’ alley up on this offer.”

“Oh, oh,” Sam said, turning to look at the clock. “Um, well. You’re a little too early for me to set aside a lane for you just yet, but you can totally go to the bar and grill and redeem the vouchers for your lunch, and Sixy can size you up for shoes. Hey, uh, hey, Six,” he called out behind him. “Got some fittings for you if you have a minute. Do you guys know what size shoes you wear to bowl?”

“I don’t. Syl might.”

She did, but she said she’d want to see a chart to make sure. Sam nodded. “Okay, alright. So. Two free games, you can get your shoes there in a second, and here are your food and drink vouchers,” he said, handing Wander a couple of marbled plastic pieces that looked like old baccarat chips, with “Starlight Lanes” and the address of the place engraved on them in gold. “You can sub a fountain drink out for something at the bar if you have ID on you, but food stays here in the carpeted area or at the tables behind your lane seating. If you take your drink to your lane it must stay in the cupholders, and you can’t bring it to the approach area, obviously. League practice is happening right now, so, uh, I gotta ask that you stay on the carpeted area for right now anyways. I’ll come and find you when that’s over though, and help you set up your lane for play and pick out what ball weights you need. This is Sixy, he’ll get you sized,” Sam said, gesturing to the cube that came floating out of the back office, darker than any void either of them had ever Orbbled by outside of any star-system they’d been to.

He vibrated a bit, producing a quiet hum that grabbed Syl’s full attention back around to them, and led them around the corner of the main counter to shoe rentals. It didn’t take more than a minute for him to work his magic (it literally seemed like magic - he made their feet glow green and then the shoes they needed glowed too and floated down to the counter) on both of them, and he indicated that they could return the shoes to anyone at the counter when they were done, but also pointed out the signage that had the rules of where they could and couldn’t wear the shoes.

“Protect our equipment and keep yourself safe,” it read. Wood for rentals, carpet for sneakers and other footwear. Small practice sliding near the ball racks only, no horseplay.

They thanked Sam and Sixy, and took their shoes and vouchers to the grill.

Over cheese pizza slices and fries, and a soda for each of them, they watched the league players send ball after ball down the lanes, the scorecards change, and enjoyed the time just observing the new scenery and sounds. After a while, Wander leaned over and said, “I don’t wanna get too excited but I think that’s the team what done beat out your grandma’s team, down that way.”

She looked again, a little bit harder this time, and was surprised to see that, indeed, it was.

The Nine-Pin Nihilists.

Major Threat finished off a beer and put it back in the cupholders on the scoreboard desk, lined himself up and tossed his sparkly purple ball, sending it hooking tightly down the lane and taking out half of the pins from six on back. He looked disappointed, and turned back with a shrug as his cohorts cajoled him.

“Oh!” Wander sat up and waved. “Oh, Syl, look! It’s Mr. Peepers.”

She sat up, also, and said, “What.”

“That means Hater must be here, somewhere.”

“Oh, Grop. Really? I don’t see him. Maybe it’s just Peepers.”

“I’m gonna go say hi,” Wander excused himself and went down to the far end of the concourse, leaning over the wall and tipping his cap to Peepers down at the scoreboard desk, who seemed just as surprised as Syl. They waved awkwardly to one another. She made a gesture at him, both hands to her head like the lightning bolts on Hater, and he pointed towards the bathrooms, by the bar. Wander came back over after a short chat, and he came back grinning. “They’re here for practice, but they got in late so they’re staying through for a couple of games during open bowl time. We should see if we can get the lane next to theirs!” And before she could say anything, he was off to go speak with Sam.

She had a feeling that this afternoon of fun was going to turn out like her little cross-stitch project.

At least her Granny might be entertained by the thought that Major Threat was day-drunk, trying to knock down pins in old cargo shorts and a ratty cardigan. She wondered if his team wouldn’t mind taking a photo or two.


End file.
